I took a homeless man to lunch. This is what happened.

"Hey, are you hungry? Can I take you out to lunch?" I asked.

It was a blustery fall day that felt more like winter. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky and the sun was piercing the downtown streets with a radiance that warmed your chest, yet the 29-degree air was cold enough to burn the tops of your ears.

"I'm starving, but I don't want to leave my stuff," she said as she slowly lit her cigarette. She was laying on a pile of blankets. Next to her was a worn down stroller that held four of her suitcases.

"I will go anywhere and I will get you anything. What are you in the mood for?" I asked.

"Seriously?" she was skeptical about the offer. "Gourmet Grill, please!! I could really go for a gyro and fries. People haven't really been feeding us lately," she replied. After dropping off her food I sat with her to talk. Her name is Cassandra. We talked about pizza, she mentioned the library had extra tables set up and wondered if they were preparing another police training, she was sad the downtown 5 Guys Burgers and Fries closed—it was one of her favorites.

People passed by as we talked. Many looked at us, me with my back against the cold exterior of the building, sitting with Cassandra. I was wearing pressed jeans and a collared sweater. Some people looked puzzled, some wouldn't make eye contact, others deliberately walked further away from us as if there was an imaginary obstacle they needed to avoid and distance themselves from—to them, that obstacle was us.

"So, how has the rest of your week been?" I asked. "Awful. Just awful as you can imagine...oh hey, look, here comes Loren!" she exclaimed.

Loren is a man in his late 50s. He's Cassandra's friend. Loren was holding a plastic yellow bag with his social security information and paperwork in it. "Loren, my name is Josh. Are you hungry? Can I take you out to lunch somewhere?"

We ended up at Gourmet Grill—the cashier looked puzzled to see me for a second time ordering food for a different person in a span of 10 minutes. Loren ordered the gyro burger—he said he'd never had it before, but it looked really good.

Loren wasn't burdened by the worn down stroller or the suitcases like Cassandra was. He wanted to dine in and enjoy the warmth for as long as he could. Loren has been homeless for four years and his income has been scarce, at best, since 2011. Social security isn't paying what it used to, he'd go on to tell me.

Loren has two sets of twins and they're in their late 20s now. One lives in Texas, one is out in California and two are here in Nebraska. He keeps in touch with his daughter who lives in Omaha.

We talked.

We talked about Back to the Future and Michael J. Fox. We talked about Husker sports. We talked about the internet and about technology and the frightening rate at which personal data and information is available to anyone who wants it. We talked about our families, "It didn't always used to be this way, you know? I used to have the house, the car, the wife...then the second wife." He went on to explain the costs of the divorces were a contributing factor to him being homeless. "Anything can change in an instant," he reflected in a soft, quiet tone. I nodded, knowing damn well that every day is a blessing and nothing in this life is guaranteed.

He asked about my family. I beamed about my two-year-old daughter, five-year-old son, and beautiful wife. "Man, you're so fortunate. You got a million dollar family, right there," he beamed—and he's right. After lunch Loren hugged me, and we shook hands, he said he doesn't get to go out to eat much at all anymore and this was an unexpected surprise that made his day—and I felt the exact same way about our time together.

"You know, the world could've been fixed 20 years ago if there were more people like you in it. I'm glad I met you." Loren said.

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Over the course of my career in marketing and advertising I've been fortunate enough to work with nonprofits and help tell others' stories in a meaningful way. Some of my work has since manifest itself into a desire to break out of my own little box and out of my own comfort zone to meet somebody new, somebody who may need something more than I do or more than I could ever imagine—I've wanted to meet complete strangers and share a meal and a real conversation with them for a long time now. It's amazing what people can do when we work together and lift each other up. It's amazing what we can do when we spend time getting to know someone and take the time to LISTEN to someone. Everyone is going through something—everyone. The business professionals Loren and I looked at while they walked by Gourmet Grill, Loren himself, and even me...everyone has their own problems, obstacles, and demons—sometimes it's as visible as homelessness, but most of the time we all work so hard to hide our "things" and our imperfections from the outside world.

The nudge I needed to get this experience crossed off my bucket list came from Firespring founder, Jay Wilkinson. In fact, 2011 wasn't only a difficult year for Loren, but it was also a difficult year for Jay as well—this was the year his mother passed away. Knowing we don't know how long we have while we're here, and to honor the memory of his mother, Jay wanted to spread kindness and help others spread kindness in 2011 just as much as he does right now. Eight years ago in our downtown office, Jay handed out cash to every Firespringer with one simple instruction—"do something nice for someone else." Circling back to our company's core values and desire to make a positive and lasting impact in our community, Jay honored his mother's memory by doing the same thing this year—"go do something nice for someone else."

This was the push I needed to gather the courage to do something I've been meaning to do for a long time. To take a moment and spend it in someone else's life, however brief it may be. To spend this time with someone who I may never see again, but to share a moment we'll both remember forever. Because at the end of the day, every single one of us is writing our obituaries with every one of our interactions and conversations. Our actions shape our story by the impact we make on other peoples' stories. Don't wait until it's too late to write the obit you want now. Do your thing, take your shot, be courageous, make a positive impact on someone else's life, but above all be kind and #payitforward while there's still time left.